Bitter is the Flesh that Weeps
by Psychomorph
Summary: The Animorphs aren't the only ones who have to deal with the Yeerks....


**Bitter is the Flesh that Weeps**  
by: Psychomorph  
e-mail: [psychomorph@excite.com][1]  
  


* * *

"Daddy? Daddy, are you there?"  
  
No answer. Not that there ever really is.  
  
"Mommy? Mommy?"  
  
She stands at the top of the stairs, peering down. Silence echoes her pleas. Her lower lip trembles and a tear clings to the corner of one eye. Always the silence. She wipes the tear away from her face with a balled up fist. She is too a big girl. And she would show it. No crying. The poison quiet weights down upon her. It invades and infests her small body until she is racked with tears.  
  
"MOMMY! DADDY!" The words rip from her mouth in a scream. Not the quiet. Anything but the quiet and the silence to eat into her and gobble her up. Gobble her up just like the guilt. Was it her fault they were so cold now? Did she do something wrong? Was it her fault that they didn't speak to her or each other anymore? Were they mad at her?  
  
"What, Miranda?" The voice downstairs is cold and uninterested. No concern shows. "Miranda?" Silence from the girl. "Miranda you are to stop screaming this instant." A voice totally devoid, totally silent of any pity for the girl.  
  
The tiny figure on the steps runs down and clings to her father's leg. "Please don't leave me alone! PLEASE!"  
  
He brushes her off with two rough hands. "You are not alone." He reaches down and picks her up, her tiny body as light as a feather to him. She rests in the crook of one arm, staring at him. "Do you want me to give you something? Something special?" A smile crosses his face, but it is a thin one, never reaching his eyes. His eyes are death-cold. "You're old enough now to get a special gift, Miranda. Would you like it?"  
  
She throws her arms around his neck, burying her face into it as well. "I just want you, Daddy. Please love me again, please love me again, please love me again, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. What did I do? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...." The words become a littany in her mind, running over and over like a rat on a wheel, spinning and spinning. She weeps.  
  
He carries her out to the car, the strange death-cold smile that never touches his eyes still maring his face. Her father fastens her seatbelt and winks at her. Just like before. "Punkin, have I got a suprise for you!"  
  
Her sniffles stop and she looks up at him with eyes full of hurt hope. Maybe, just maybe, Daddy's okay now. Maybe. Just maybe. A weight lifts from her shoulders slightly. Maybe it wasn't her fault. Maybe. She hopes.  
  
They drive into town, a word not spoken between the two of them. Silence. Quiet. But a hopefull quiet. Miranda glances at her father occasionally, trying to see the smile on his face again. Daddy was back. Daddy was okay. For the first time in months, she smiled. Maybe things will be alright. Maybe. The car stops in front of a small building. They step out. She stares at the building, the words THE SHARING written in large, bold letters on a sign. Something about the place chills her bones. Something isn't right.  
  
"Daddy, I'm scared."  
  
"Don't be," he snaps, all pretence of warmth leeched from his voice. He clamps an iron hand on her small wrist.  
  
"Let go! You're hurting me! Daddy, let go!" She twists and struggles. Her father yanks hard on her wrists, a cruel smile on his face. This one, this "smile" reaches into his eyes. This "smile" is as cold as ice, as quiet as a snake before it strikes. "DADDY!"  
  
He drags her into the building, past the people, none of whom help her, all of whom look at her with that same preditory smile. All of them. Miranda's father shoves her into a small room, one with a tiny steel-gray pond in it. He shoves her in. The pool is shallow, only a foot and a half deep, but slippery. She slides and struggles to stand. She falls, face first, into the pool.  
  
For a brief moment, as he watches her flounder in the pool, her father's face twitches. A maelstrom of emotion tears him apart. But it isn't enough. All he can do is watch as she is infested. "Welcome, Insin 4-4-5," a voice that isn't his says.  
  
"Thank you, Galro 9-2-6. I'm sure this host will be no trouble at all." In the deep recesses of Miranda's mind, all she can do was scream. < I'm sorry, so sorry, so sorry, Daddy I love you.... >  
  


   [1]: mailto:psychomorph@excite.com



End file.
